Considering Motive
by crearealidad
Summary: There’s no way he would have walked out of there so easily if this much of her skin had been showing then.


Title: Considering Motive

**Title: **Considering Motive (1/3)

**Rating:** MA/NC-17

**Pairing: **Brennan/Booth

**Spoilers/Warnings:** May contain spoilers for any up to, but no including Verdict in the Trial. Takes place some time during season three between Santa in the Slush and the Verdict in the Trial.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own, nor did I create these two characters or the places described here. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** There's no way he would have walked out of there so easily if this much of her skin had been showing then.

When he arrives, he finds her snoring and perhaps drooling against her keyboard. A smile comes to his lips as he realizes at that at some point during her attempted all-nighter of paperwork, she'd pulled her hair free from its band. Now it is fanning out across her imaginary pillow. He comes closer to her, discovering that she's left a long line of jibberish on the end of what appears to be her case notes.

He left her here hours ago, headed for a bath, a beer, and then bed. But he'd been just about to start in his beer when he reached for his cell phone to call her, only to realize he'd left it on her desk. He considered waiting until morning, but something had pulled him back to the Jeffersonian.

It's nearly ten as he arrives and she's passed out there over her work.

Coming around her desk, he contemplates the best way to wake her. He's not in the mood to get his nose broken by startling her awake, but he can't leave her there like that.

"Bones…time to wakey wakey…" He teases gently, placing a hand on the nearly bare skin of her shoulder. His eyebrow lifts when she doesn't stir.

Staring down at his hand, he realized that she must've stripped off the lab coat and blouse sometime since he'd left, because there's no way he would've walked out of there so easily if this much of her skin had been showing then. Certainly he'd had enough trouble keeping his eyes off of the delicate slice of her skin that had been peaking at him all afternoon from the opening in her blouse. Now, a wide swath of skin is exposed to him by this tank top and its ribbon thin straps.

His fingertips curl and she is awake at the same instant as his short nails rasp at her over her skin. Her head swings around to see him, impressions of keys still burning red on her light skin.

"Booth! What are you doing here? I was just finishing up—"

He chuckles at her, allowing her eyes to take in what he's certain is a critique of his unprofessional choice in clothing: The neck of his t-shirt is still wet from his shower and the jeans he's wearing are frayed and have holes in them.

It's not until those heavy-lidded eyes drag their way back up to his face that he speaks, with a voice that belies his feigned interest in her gaze. "I—uh, left my phone." His hand quickly darts out to snatch up the phone, which still lay near the edge of her desk, then chastises, "What are you doing here so late?"

Shaking her head, eyes closing, she turns back towards her computer to begin deleting the strings of nonsense she had created. "I was—I just wanted to finish up my notes on this case, so you could have them to turn in by tomorrow…"

His hand is still on her shoulder and she still hasn't chosen to make mention of this fact. Instead she leans back with a sigh, accidentally pushing his hand lower until it's cupping her shoulder blade and her head is tilted back, lost on the edge of sleep and thought.

"My head hurts," she says, absently, not opening her eyes.

"You should let me take you home."

He means the question to be innocent. A gesture of his friendship and respect for her. He doesn't need that report first thing and she knows that.

But her interpretation is very different, given the context of having his hand on her bare skin, which her tired mind is just beginning to comprehend. Her shoulders come back and her head comes up and she's turning around in the chair to face him before he even seems to realize that he left it so up for interpretation.

"Why?"

He wants to tease her now, her quick movements heightening the grin that's already gracing his face. Leaning down towards her with a finger pointed he whispers, "Because I don't need these notes until late tomorrow and that keyboard…" He pauses for a moment to bring that finger to one of the more prominent indentations in her cheek. "That keyboard is not a good pillow."

Her head ducks shyly at his touch, trying to avoid the blush that's creeping up her pale cheeks. He comes in a little closer, hoping to catch sight what she's trying to hide while she pretends that she's fascinated by her forearm and wrist which are draped across the back of her chair.

"I can make it home on my own, Booth."

"Just let me take you. I really don't want to have to worry about you taking a power-snooze behind the wheel."

"I can take care of myself."

"Just let me take you home. Can't it just be that I'm doing something nice for you? Taking you home and tucking you in?"

It's been like this since Christmas between these two.

He says things that once earned him at best a smirk and a lecture about her not needing help, only now she's been misinterpreting his intentions again and again because a new possible motivation has entered her mind.

The possibility leaves her stymied and a little of kilter, blushing and averting her eyes like someone far less logical than herself. He's never seen this before, this part of her, and it distracts him. All because she'd walked into that kiss cocky and certain but afterwards, she'd been flustered and rushed to move on.

Damn he loves seeing his effect on her.

When she finally looks up at him, he can still see the lingering pink of what had been crimson tingeing her cheekbones.

"I can just—I came to work on the Metro," she tells him. "I—my car it's parked at the station…I can't leave it overnight."

It's not a refusal, just a challenge, so he leans in closer, bringing hand to her hair and pushing it back from her face. "It can wait til morning. I'll have a talk with the station manager personally and then take you back first thing in the morning to get it. Besides, I can't have you trading that keyboard for your steering wheel, you know what I mean?"

Apparently she doesn't because her face twists in the confusion as the blush on her cheeks suffuses her skin anew.

"I just don't want you dozing off at the wheel, Bones."

"Booth, I'm capable…" she stammers, but her voice fails her before she can finish.

His hand cradles the back of her neck and he pulls her closer, resting her head against his stomach. "I know you are. Just let me take you home this time, okay?"

Abruptly, she pulls from his grasp and stands, pushing her way past him to gather her things. Folders go into her bag, along with her cell phone, a set of keys, and a plastic shopping bag from her desk. He watches as she scoops up her blouse from the floor and draws it over her shoulders, not bothering to fasten the buttons. With a few more movements, she's got her computer shut down and her lab coat draping neatly across the back of the chair and her bag slung heavily over her shoulder.

Turning back towards him, her free hand pushes her hair back from her face, the weariness in her expression evident. "Don't forget your cell phone, Booth."

He starts at her voice and quickly lifts the cell phone for her to see before shoving it in his back pocket. "So you're letting me drive you home?"

She nods and that same shy smile starts tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He reaches out and tugs her bag from her shoulder, shaking his head and tossing it over his own shoulder easily, before putting his other arm over her shoulder and leading her out of her office. Her eyes swing warily towards him then to the hand that's lazily dangling from her shoulder, quantifying the increasing possibility that her hypothesis may have been correct.

"You know, Booth, I can carry my own bag."

"I know."

"Then why don't—"

"Don't worry about it, Bones. I'm just being friendly."

She laughs a little at that, knocking playfully against him.

They don't talk again until they've reached the parking lot. She's still leaning against his chest, wrapped in his arm when he asks her, "So, Bones… No lecture on how I'm being an over-protective alpha-male tonight?"

Her head falls back against his arm and her other hand drifts automatically to rest on his chest. "I think… Not tonight. I know I'm too tired to get home on my own and I really don't want to sleep at my desk."

The hand drifts back down to her side and she brings her eyes up to scan the lot for his SUV. He tightens his grip on her shoulders, steering her gently in the correct direction as he says, "Good for you, Bones… You work too damn hard sometimes."

"My work is important. I—"

He stops her before she can begin to remind him of why she can't ever seem to leave work on time by poking her side, sending her bolting out from under his arm with a surprised squeal that dissolves into nervous giggles.

"Booth!"

"I know, Bones. You don't gotta tell me. But falling asleep on your desk… that's not going to help anyone. You're not a robot," he tells her carefully. She's walking backwards, arms crossed across her chest and watches as he adjusts her bag on his shoulder, licking her lips to wet them. He just grins.

When she suddenly stumbles back, tripping on a drain grate that she didn't remember being there, it takes a moment before she steadies herself and his hand comes to her elbow, turning her back around until she's no longer looking back.

"C'mon. Let's get you home," he says, chuckling softly, earning him a swift slap to his fingers. He doesn't withdraw his fingers, just slides them down until his forearm is tucked between hers and her ribs, his hand closing around hers.

In a moment, he's leading her around to the passenger side of his SUV, opening the door and helping her step up into the seat. Immediately, she sinks back into it's familiar upholstery with a sigh. With a smile, he closes the door and moves around to the driver's side, opening the door and flopping heavily into the seat. Her hand is rubbing at her temple when he inserts his key into the ignition and turns it but the engine doesn't respond.

Her hand drops and she looks over at him questioningly.

He turns the key again, harder this time. Still, no answer rumble comes from the front of the car and his eyes are drawn to the headlights knob. Roughly, he jerks the knob into the off position and tries the key once more before muttering, "Damn it."


End file.
